


wasting hours on a set of smiles

by youheldyourbreath



Series: wasting away in earth, wind and fire [1]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, soft marvel children, teeth rotting, the new spider-man ffh trailer made me write this, this is actually fluffy af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 21:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17433635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youheldyourbreath/pseuds/youheldyourbreath
Summary: Michelle knows she looks fine. Perfectly adequate, even. Her entire life she has had nearly every adult around her riff on a variation of “you’re such a pretty girl, if only you’d just [enter criticism here]”. She knows she is pretty; and yet.She also knows that looks aren’t everything and would much prefer the people in her life to value her for her intelligence, her wit, and her humor. The superficial is immaterial.But something absolutely explodes in her chest when Peter Parker tucks his theatre ticket in his inside of his borrowed jacket pocket and summons the courage to say, “You look really pretty.” Her heart nearly suffers a murmur because, somehow, she knows that he means it. He thinks she is really pretty.And it matters. It matters more than it should.





	wasting hours on a set of smiles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tvfanatic97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvfanatic97/gifts).



Michelle knows she looks fine. Perfectly adequate, even. Her entire life she has had nearly every adult around her riff on a variation of “you’re such a pretty girl, if only you’d just [enter criticism here]”. She knows she is pretty; and yet. She also knows that looks aren’t everything and would much prefer the people in her life to value her for her intelligence, her wit, and her humor. The superficial is immaterial.

But something absolutely explodes in her chest when Peter Parker tucks his theatre ticket in his inside of his borrowed jacket pocket and summons the courage to say, “You look really pretty.” Her heart nearly suffers a murmur because, somehow, she knows that he means it. He thinks she is really pretty.

And it matters. It matters more than it should. 

_Peter Parker thinks she looks really pretty._

“Therefore I have value?” she smarts.

His eyes widen slightly as he starts to ramble and back himself off of the invisible ledge she has pushed him out on, “No, no that’s not—“

She laughs. It is a light, twinkly sound. He looks stupefied. “I’m messing with you,” she says.

He nods, like he has any clue, and it is so sweet it adds two skips to her already irregularly racing heart. Peter Parker is turning her into a giggly, smiley fool. And she doesn’t think she minds.

Which is why, she tentatively adds, “You look pretty, too.”

He smiles. She smiles shyly back. And Michelle has never been happier to be in a flirting standoff where the only weapon is goofy, brilliant smiles.

Flash shoulders through them and punctures a hole in the moment. As it deflates, MJ considers tossing her shoe at his head. Rubbing his shoulder— a moment too late to be convincing, Spider-Man— Peter beats her to a retort. “Seriously, Flash?” he frowns.

Eugene turns around and snorts, “Got a problem, dickwad?”

He glances at Michelle and she sees Peter visibly soften. She never imagined he would ever look at her like this, like she is a revelation. Peter adopts the goofy smile that is quickly becoming her favorite look on him. He shakes his head, “Nah. I’m good.”

He nervously, but determined, too, extends his hand to MJ and she gnaws on her bottom lip. It keeps her barely contained grin somewhat at bay. (It doesn’t).

She takes his hand and he laces their fingers together. Peter weaves around a flabbergasted Flash and leads them to their seats. She pretends she doesn’t see the emphatic thumbs up that Ned is shooting his best friend from the entrance of the theatre.

Even when they sit, Peter holds her hand. They don’t say another word. They are smiling, again, and MJ is too blissfully happy to feel stupid.

Mr. Harrington bumbles down to the row of seats they have reserved and huffs as he falls into the red velvet beside Peter. “Europe time is really getting to me, Peter. How was I supposed to know we were an hour early?”

MJ raises her eyebrow, “Clocks?”

“I don’t mind,” Peter flushes all the way to the tips of his ears. “I’m having a great time.”

She ducks her head in embarrassment. Before Europe, before Peter looked at her and didn’t look away, she liked him. She grew accustomed to being overlooked and watching him fall over beautiful girls that weren’t her. It was fine, the way all things are fine when you are forced to bear it, but it was certainly easier to admire him from afar. He is so singular, so intensely good that she never considered what it would feel like to have his attention, his affection, his silly little dumb faces.

She likes it. It scares her.

Peter Parker is the kind of thing she is afraid to lose.

Then, Peter runs his thumb over the back of her hand. She glances at him and he is already watching her, like he never looked away. She rolls her eyes. He grins wider. She whispers, as patrons start to filter into the theatre, “How long are you going to look at me?”

“As long as you’ll let me,” he says, without hesitation.

* * *

They are still holding hands, hours later, when the curtain drops. She holds his hand as the rest of the crowd filters out. She holds his hand as the walk out of the theatre. She holds his hand as Mr. Harrington starts to lead their class’ way back to the hostel to change for the Festival later that night. She holds his hand as Eugene utterly bores her to tears with his learned opinion on the play and the actors.

And because she is still holding his hand, it is too easy for him, to tug her, by the hand, off the beat and path of the busy Prague streets.

“Peter—“ she starts, but he quiets her with one look and she impatiently waits. He ducks his head out to check that their class hasn’t noticed their absence and when they are in the clear, she revisits her grievance, “Peter, what the hell?”

He flushes, a deep, blotchy red, and earnestly replies, “I wasn’t ready to head back just yet.”

She knows more experienced, sexy girls would have bat their eyelashes, or said something sexy or even kissed him, but Michelle simply whispers, _“Oh.”_

Peter widely blinks, “Unless you don’t want to! Of course. Oh man, I’m sorry. It wasn’t—“

She cuts him off with a firm shake of her head, “No. No, I want to, too.”

He relaxes and she squeezes his hand. It is such a simple, beautiful thing. Holding his hand.

They walk for a long time in silence. She supposes it makes sense— the pair of them are fumbling through uncharted territory. MJ hasn’t dated. She had been too preoccupied by the Peter Parker of it all the entirety of high school to consider anyone else. And Peter, well, Peter is Peter.

She knows he was hardly focused enough for a relationship before the whole Spider-Man incident came crashing into his life the back half of their freshman year. After, he was an utter mess, completely incapable of maintaining any stability in his life. Liz Toomes proved that he wasn’t ready to anything other than Spider-Man.

After Tony Stark died, Peter seemed to find some clarity, some boundaries and when he came up for air after years of putting the suit first, he saw her.

Before she died, Michelle’s mother used to say that “timing was everything”. As she holds Peter’s hand in the shadowy candlelight of an abandoned European streets, Michelle thinks she might have been right.

“What’d you think of the play?” Peter prompts, aching for conversation.

Michelle softly smirks, “Small talk, really?”

He shakily exhales, “I’m nervous. Sue me.”

She nods, “I know. Your hands are all sweaty.”

Peter blushes deeply. He drops her hand, which she tries not to immediately grieve, and wipes his palms furiously on his pants. “Jesus, MJ, why didn’t you tell me?” She laughs and its easy. It bubbles up out of her and crackles in the night air. He looks so privately pleased. “Anyway,” he shoves his hands in his pockets, “I, uh, I’m not misreading this, _us_ , am I?”

She tucks the tendril hanging loosely in her face behind her ear and shakes her head, “No. You’re not.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. It makes her smile, again, damn it. Her chest is starting to ache from happiness. It is a tangible tenderness. “Cool,” he whispers, more to himself than to her. “I didn’t think I was…”

She loops her thumbs in the hooks of her backpack. MJ only wastes a moment wishing she was holding his hand, “I did mean it, you know.” He raises his eyebrow, and so, she clarifies, “I do think you’re pretty.”

He chuckles, scratching the back of his head, embarrassed and gratified. “And you know,” he starts, “I think you’re more than just pretty, right?”

She remembers the way he looked at her in London. She remembers the way he laughed at her jokes in Venice. She remembers the little ways they have become friends over the last year and the way he seems to always search for her in a crowded room.

It is more. They are more.

MJ nods, “I know.”

“MJ—” he says, touching her elbow, stopping her in her tracks.

“Peter?” she replies, quietly.

He steps forward and her space is suddenly crowded with Peter. His eyes, his face, the soft curve of his lips. She realizes, a moment too late, that he intends to kiss her.

The world crashes around them. There is a bang. There is a crash. There is screaming. And the whoosh of some water nearby.

He curses. Loudly. “I’m sorry.” He curses, again. “I need to go.” Still, he hesitates. Another scream sounds. Michelle knows he hasn’t told her yet, about Spider-Man and all of the baggage that goes along with his suit, but she knows they, Peter and MJ, have time. But the people who need him don’t.

She can let him go for now. She knows he’ll come back. Peter Parker isn’t the type of boy to leave.

“Go,” she insists.

He blinks and assesses her. She wonders if he suspects that she knows about his alter ego, but, even if he does, he doesn’t have time to press her about it now. The cries grow louder.

He hastily kisses her cheek and jogs off toward the danger. “I’ll meet you at the Festival!” Peter shouts, as he runs toward the danger. “Go there! I’ll be there soon!”

She sees him running, running, gone.

Michelle gingerly touches her burning cheek from his kiss. And smiles.    


End file.
